Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE8VWC6FFS417VPAFKX9B05

Molly slid the blueprint of the McAllister backyard across the table, jabbing a finger at the bounce house. "The presents are stacked right here, behind the pin the tail on the donkey station." Bill squinted. "There's a clown, Molly. A clown." "So?" "Clowns notice things. It's their whole deal. Big shoes, bigger eyes." "He's juggling. He won't see us." "Everyone sees the juggler, Bill, that's the point of juggling." "Fine. We wait till the piñata." "The piñata's a distraction, sure, but there's also a bouncy castle full of seven-year-olds with sugar in their veins. That's not a party, that's a stampede waiting for a reason." Molly rolled her eyes. "We dress as party clowns ourselves. Blend in." "Two grown adults in wigs, carrying an empty sack, at a six-year-old's birthday party." "It's a *big* sack. For balloons." "For presents." "For balloon-shaped presents." Bill sighed, rubbing his temples. "And when Timmy's mother asks why the clown is sweating and stealing?" "I tell her I have a gluten thing." "That doesn't even—" "Bill. Focus. Cake happens at three. We move at 2:58." He stared at her. "You've timed a toddler's cake cutting." "I time everything."